


An Outpouring of Truth

by KnockKnock7



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, It's pretty much mandatory isn't it?, Magic Reveal, No Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-23 23:29:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19711702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KnockKnock7/pseuds/KnockKnock7
Summary: Merlin can fix broken things, can take the pieces and put them back together again and make them stick with love and care and as much pressure as needed. But fractured things? He can't tape the pieces together without causing more harm, he can't hold all the hurt and cracking pieces together without even more falling away.Merlin can fix broken but he can't fix fractured.





	An Outpouring of Truth

**Author's Note:**

> No copyright infringement intended.

“I have magic.”

The words take his breath away; they swirl 'round and 'round his head, his whole being resonates with them; and he...absolutely must have misheard or he's dreaming or he's hallucinating because this wasn't happening. ( It couldn't be happening!) These three little (except huge because they proclaim years of lies and half-truths; proclaim years of betrayal) words weren't tearing his entire world down and rebuilding it around a revelation that changed everything (except it wasn't doing that because he definitely _wasn't_ hearing them!).

“What?” he manages to croak out, because...no, no, this wasn't happening. It _couldn't_ be happening.

There's a long suffering sigh (that was normal, yes) then a deep breath (and oh, no this definitely wasn't happening), then—“Merlin, I have magic,” Arthur declares and there's no smirk curving his lips, no twinkle in his eyes; there's nothing but sincerity and guilt and fear and _honesty_ and this wasn't happening!

Merlin stumbles back into a chair which is good because his legs are shaking fit to fly apart. This was...impossible ( _as impossible as_ me _having magic?_ ) and ridiculous and Arthur had magic? Was this an enchantment? Because there is no way that Arthur has magic and tells him before Merlin gets to tell him! It's not fair and it's not right and it's not happening!

“I know it's a shock but please understand, Merlin, it's...” Arthur sounds hesitant and nervous (except Arthur was never nervous and certainly not in front of Merlin of all people), “it's not something I chose, I was born like this. It's why Father could never fully accept me because I had this—this _evil_ inside of me. I've always had it and I couldn't tell you—I couldn't tell anyone, you understand?”

Arthur keeps talking and really Merlin is trying to listen, but this is completely out of his league (out of this world). He literally has no idea of how to react (except denial because really?).

“I've never told anyone, and I've never even thought of ca—” Arthur cuts himself off from whatever he'd been about to reveal (and really, that might be a good thing at this point).

Merlin knows distantly that this would probably be a good time to say something, he should try to tell Arthur that he understands, should do something but he can't find his voice.

After a tense moment, Arthur continues softly, “It became pretty easy to keep it a secret—I mean nobody knew me anyway so it's not like I trusted anyone enough to even want to tell them or feel guilty about not telling them. But...” he trails off again and Merlin knows how he feels because he has felt the same time and time again. It was a lot harder to keep a secret when you cared about the people you were hiding things from. When somebody was looking at you and trusting you and you want to tell them with everything you are but you can't (you don't) because...because you fear rejection (more than banishment, more than torture, more than death), you fear _this_ moment (of revealing your lies and your entire life wrapped up in three words) more than you've ever feared anything else in your life.

Yes, Merlin understands all too well.

“I know I've hidden things from you—a lot of them. And I know that's hard to look past and I know that I've outright lied to you—and that hurts, I know but I never—” Arthur sighs again, runs shaking hands across his face, “I never laughed at you, Merlin, for not noticing, or not guessing or anything like that. And I trusted you—I _do_ trust you—and this doesn't change that. Now you just know...everything about me.”

Merlin stares at him; he wonders, again, if somehow this is all a dream (how can this possibly be real?).

“It's just...Merlin, magic isn't evil.”

Merlin starts at that because Arthur saying this to _Merlin_ of all people is laughable (except it's not, it's really not) but he can't laugh, can't unfreeze his mouth and tell his tongue to form words and his vocal chords to make a sound, can't convince his thoughts to form a coherent sentence let alone all the things he wants to say, needs to say.

“Look,” and Arthur's eyes (blue as the sky) turn to gold (as gold as the sun, as gold as Arthur's crown, as gold as _magic_ ) and a flame (a beautiful, tiny, contained flame) appears in his cupped palms. He holds them closer to Merlin, open and inviting and holding clear proof of sorcery that even Merlin cannot deny. “I didn't choose magic, but I love it. It's beautiful and just as much a part of life as the air we breathe and it's....everywhere—you can't kill it—and I know it's been used for evil but it's not inherently evil, only people are. Its...it's life!” Arthur can't find the words to describe it and this, possibly more than anything (even the flame still flickering innocently in Arthur's hands), is what convinces Merlin (for the last time) that this is happening; because Arthur can't find the words the same way Merlin has never been able (not for lack of trying) to describe the pure beauty of magic.

Merlin wants to weep, he wants to scream, he wants to laugh (he doesn't know what he wants). It's as if every reaction he could possibly have is trying to bubble out of him and yet nothing comes. He's dreamed of a million scenarios (he's had to with everything that goes on around them), but he's never imagined this possibility. He has nothing to combat this (no lie, no joke, no encouragement); he doesn't even know how to try.

“And if I could do it all over again, I'd still choose magic,” Arthur finishes. He sounds far away and Merlin wonders why, wonders if somebody is attacking them, wonders if he's supposed to do something about it or if Arthur will.

Because Arthur has magic.

“Merlin, please breathe,” Arthur commands him (but he said please and how was any of this this happening?) "It's okay—I'm still...me. I'm still the same prat and a clotpole and the regent and, and please, Merlin, I'm still _Arthur_!”

He sounds desperate and he's pleading now; he takes a step forward, the flames disappearing as if they had never been (but they had been real, had been solid, had been there). “I know its scary and I'm sorry—more sorry than you can ever know—but please, Merlin, don't think any differently of me. Don't—please, don't hate me for this?” he whispers almost too quietly for Merlin to catch (a plea for acceptance, a cry for belonging).

Arthur is begging Merlin to trust him.

And Merlin even in shock (as he dimly realizes he is) even when he's frozen and uncertain and even though his thoughts are spiraling, Merlin cannot leave Arthur in need.

“I—” the words don't come out right, so he stops, clears his throat, starts again. “I don't hate you. I won't.” (He'll never hate Arthur no matter what may come.) He means to say more, to give full acceptance (he does accept him; how could he not?) to give him whatever he needs but Arthur's reaction stops him before he has the chance.

He closes his eyes and his shoulders relax as if Merlin has just released the heaviest of burdens (and he has, hasn't he?) then he opens his eyes (blue and bright and shining with emotion) and pulls Merlin into a hug faster than Merlin's addled brain can follow.

The hug is so tight it hurts, it's unexpected and it's so unlike Arthur (yet it is not unwelcome) and Merlin is crushed and he can't breathe, can barely even move. But he doesn't care. He might care more if he couldn't feel the trembling in Arthur's bones and the shaky way he breathes and the pure _relief_ in his embrace.

And Merlin (for just a moment) cannot help but pretend this was Arthur's reaction when Merlin tells him—it's always been _when_ not _if_. When Merlin tells the truth. When Merlin is brave enough. When Merlin tells Arthur everything the way Arthur deserves and Merlin would face the consequences, honest and fully himself. When never if. But now...

Now it will all be different. Arthur won't have him executed (but that hasn't been Merlin's concern for years) he might even accept him, understand all of Merlin's reasonings. But... But it won't be the same. Not because Arthur confessed (and it had been a confession) first; it wasn't because Arthur had trusted Merlin with the truth first (and that is...incredible. And maybe, one day Merlin will look back on this and believe this is happening but right now it _still_ doesn't feel real); he can't explain it, but he knows his confession will...pale. Fade into obscurity. Take away from this moment, _this_ moment with Arthur holding onto him with relief and joy and friendship (And it's awkward with Merlin still sitting and Arthur kneeling over him but Merlin wouldn't change a thing).

Somehow, this changes everything (not the way Merlin looked at Arthur, not the way he thought of him, not his loyalty).

And Merlin wants to be relieved, to just breathe and relish this moment between them and believe that everything will be alright but...

But Merlin's life has never been easy (not as a child without a father or a name to call his own; not in Camelot with magic and an ax with his name on it and a destiny too heavy to bear alone).

He has to tell him now.

His heart races at the thought and he wants to run away (he's always doing that, running away from the truth) but he can't imagine not telling Arthur now. How can he not when Arthur has once again stepped forward and fought the hard fight, braved the unknown, trusted the one others would brush aside as less.

And Merlin has only ever followed in Arthur's shadow.

“Arthur?” he manages to gasp out (he's not sure if it's the tightness of the hug or his own fear that's stealing his air).

Arthur releases him with a laugh (exuberant and loud and _happy_ ), clapping Merlin on the back a bit too hard (but Merlin barely feels it past everything else clamoring for his attention). “Yes Merlin?” Arthur asks and he's sincere and open and trusting and happy and Merlin has never seen him quite like this (free and wholly Arthur). Rather than bolstering Merlin's courage this only manages to bring him down, to make his words dry up in his throat and his hands to shake and his heart to _hurt_.

He doesn't want to do this; he doesn't want Arthur's smile to fade, for his eyes to darken in betrayal, for him to pull away (to not even be able to stomach his presence).

He doesn't _have_ to do this; the thought steals in and dominates everything else and Merlin is so, so tempted but...Arthur deserves better. So he doesn't take the excuse; he swallows, clears his throat, and looks at Arthur (he wants to look anywhere else, but he needs Arthur to know he's serious and maybe he wants Arthur to think of him as brave) and says (not mumbles because Arthur deserves the truth—wholly and clearly), “Arthur, I have magic too.”

“W—what?” Arthur stumbles over the word, his expression frozen (an echo of Merlin's own reaction).

“I have magic, Arthur. And I use it for you.” Only for Arthur. Once that had been different; once Merlin had used magic for anything and everything, for the little things in life and for the big things, for comfort or chores. But now, his magic thrums beneath his skin begging to be used to help Arthur, to help Gwen and Gaius, to help Camelot and in so doing help _Arthur_.

It happens in slow motion (it's not Merlin's fault this time but perhaps it is Arthur's); the smile slips off of his face, the joy disappears, the light fades.

And Arthur turns away.

“Leave me,” he commands in a voice as void of emotion as Merlin has always feared.

Merlin should have argued, he should have stood up and made Arthur understand (as he always hoped he would be brave enough to) but Merlin is thinking only _Arthur has magic_ and _Arthur knows_ and there's no room for logic.

So he stands on shaking legs and bows deeply (to show he's still loyal to Arthur, no matter what has happened) and he leaves.

* * *

There's no message when the sun finally deigns to rise (and Merlin can stop pretending that he's sleeping) so he does what he he always does. He dresses and waves to Gaius as he leaves and he runs to get Arthur his breakfast. He barges into Arthur's room without knocking and wakes him with a _'Rise and shine,'_ that falls flat and serves his regent like nothing had happened.

But something (everything) _had_ happened and it's there in the silence while Arthur eats and Merlin cleans. In the glaringly loud scratching of Arthur's fork on his plate or his cup being placed on the table; in the way the blankets ruffle like a rippling stream as Merlin makes the bed or the papers rustle as he cleans up the desk. There's no banter, no joking, no comforting, no encouraging, not even any orders being thrown. There's just this silence so loud it hurts that reeks of betrayal and hurt on both sides.

Merlin can't even bring himself to blame Arthur. And it doesn't matter that this is one of his worst nightmares now being acted out in reality, (no trust, no communication, no hand of friendship being offered), what matters is that they're broken.

Yet still together.

Arthur wasn't surprised to see him when he opened his eyes, he isn't scared of him, isn't hesitant to eat the food Merlin brought, he doesn't shy away from Merlin's touch as he dresses him in his armor for training.

So they're not broken just fractured. And that's so much worse.

Merlin can fix broken things, can take the pieces and put them back together again and make them stick with love and care and as much pressure as needed. But fractured things? He can't tape the pieces together without causing more harm, he can't hold all the hurt and cracking pieces together without even more falling away.

Merlin can fix broken but he can't fix fractured.

It's beyond his ability and certainly beyond his thinking. But he's not leaving. (Won't even consider such a thing.) He'll still serve and protect Arthur to the best of his ability. (What if that isn't enough--what if _he_ isn't enough?) What if this is their future as well as their present? Together yet apart.

It doesn't matter. Merlin will take this over anything (to be without Arthur is beyond contemplating).

* * *

Things have changed but so many things haven't. While the banter and laughter may be gone, the trust is still there. While the talking and listening has disappeared the loyalty remains. While the friendship has vanished the willingness to die for each other doesn't fade even a little bit.

And Merlin can't decide if this is worse than anything he's ever imagined before.

* * *

“Would you like the fire turned up for the night, Sire?” Merlin asks (which is ironic because, really, Arthur can light his own fires if he wanted to but Merlin had always asked before and he's nothing if not consistent).

Arthur looks up at him, frowning from whatever report he's writing (probably the latest tax report), “Hmm?”

Merlin gestures at the fire, “What do you want tonight?”

“Oh, that, it doesn't matter,” Arthur replies absently. Merlin opens his mouth ready with a retort before he bites it back; his opinion isn't welcome whether it be about running a kingdom or criticism on how to make a decision. (Not anymore.)

Arthur stares at him and for a moment he looks as if he'll speak then he shakes his head (it must be as odd for him as it is for Merlin), before murmuring, “That will be all for tonight, Merlin.”

“Goodnight, Sire.” Merlin ignores the twinging ache of disappointment (he's used to it now) and heads to the door.

His hand is on the doorknob when Arthur breaks the silence, “Merlin, there's a time for joking, you know that, don't you?” his voice so quiet that Merlin isn't sure he was supposed to hear.

Merlin hesitates but it's a question and it's the first time (if he was supposed to hear him) that Arthur's mentioned something that sounds personal and Merlin is more than ready so he turns around and is surprised at what he sees. Arthur still sits at his desk, a quill in one hand, the other one massaging his forehead. He looks devastated. Heart broken. (He looks like Merlin feels.)

But more than that, Arthur looks broken (not fractured, not twisted, not even breaking but _broken_ ). And Merlin understands, feels the same way, feels this chasm between them as painful as the serkat venom that had ran through his veins, feels this silence as hard as the rocks Merlin had fallen headfirst into. It hurts, this mess between them. Merlin will take it (he'll take any scrap of anything from Arthur over Arthur cold and lifeless as he so often is in Merlin's nightmares), but Merlin wants, dreams of more. He dreams of laughter and talking and listening and caring and sound that doesn't hurt. He dreams of friendship (and it doesn't matter that they've never come out and called it that because they both knew what it was without having to define it). He wants what they had before all the truth had come tumbling out.

And Arthur is giving him a chance. How can Merlin not take it? Not when Arthur looks broken. And Merlin can fix broken.

“Yes, Sire, I do know that,” he murmurs and he knows he's treading on dangerous ground; knows he has to maneuver carefully around words that can so easily trap (words that hurt far more than silence ever could).

“And there's a time to be serious; to _not_ joke around; to _not_ make light of a situation. To just be...to just be serious.” Arthur sounds tired, (bone-deep exhausted) and Merlin wants to fix it, wants to give him rest, wants to calm his fears, and tame his doubts. He wants to help but he doesn't know _how_.

“Of course,” he replies though he has no idea where this is coming from, why this matters so much.

Arthur looks at him, eyes cold and betrayed and hurting and devastated, “Do you?” he asks so softly Merlin barely hears him over his pounding heart.

He can only nod helplessly. Arthur doesn't respond for so long and Merlin is sure that that's it. No more chances. No more tries. No more hands reaching out. (Perhaps, he's only deluded himself into thinking he can fix anything at all.) And this would be all he has of Arthur as long as they lived (the twisted remains of what could have been but now would never be).

The silence lasts so long Merlin turns back to the door because Arthur isn't saying anything, is just sitting there expressionless and breaking into a thousand pieces and Merlin can't stop it, can't mend him, can't _fix_ him (isn't even wanted).

He's halfway out the door when Arthur finally asks in a broken whisper, “Then why did you, that night?”

Merlin stills, thoughts scattering at the mention of that night (they haven't spoken of it, never addressed what had been said, haven't used magic in front of each other), that night where Merlin's world crashed and burned around him and all because of a single flame in Arthur's palm and three words.

Slowly he steps back inside, slowly (as if in a dream) he closes the door, locks it (they can't be interrupted) let's a spell fall around the room so they won't be overheard (he wonders if Arthur is aware of it, if he can feel Merlin's magic now that he knows). And finally, finally he turns back to his king (king even if Arthur hasn't been crowned yet).

“Arthur?” It's the first time since that night he's called him by name because Merlin (though he has never acknowledged it in words before) knows that to be allowed to use his given name is a sign of trust, a privilege (an honor) and he doesn't deserve it now, not when silence presses in on them like darkness in the deepest cave.

Merlin doesn't actually know what else there is to say, doesn't even know where to begin because he still doesn't understand what Arthur is saying.

But Arthur after another eternity finally repeats, “Why Merlin? I trusted you with...with _everything!_ ” he cries (and surely those weren't tears in his eyes, were they? They couldn't be—Arthur didn't cry!) “And you...you just cracked a joke. Like it was _nothing_ when it was _everything_!”

Merlin's world stops. And just like that he understands. And how, _how_ can Arthur even let him be near him when he thought that Merlin had—how can Arthur stand to look at him let alone allow Merlin in his room, let Merlin serve him, feed him, dress him, breathe the same air as him when he thought that Merlin had joked about having magic?

He thought Merlin had laughed at him; treated his greatest secret like it was nothing; made light of the burden Arthur had carried his whole life, the sacrifices he had made in the name of duty.

If their situations had been reversed, if Merlin had thought that Arthur didn't understand the magnitude of what Merlin was telling him, that Arthur was laughing at him...Merlin didn't think he would have been able to stomach even being in the same room with him, in the same kingdom as him.

And it's heartbreaking; Merlin understands now, understands Arthur, understands this gaping hole between them and more importantly (most importantly) Merlin can fix it.

“I wasn't joking.” The words are jumbled, twisted, slurred together; desperate to be said and coming out all wrong. He clears his throat and tries again this time slowly and clearly, “I wasn't joking.”

Silence.

Then Arthur frowns; anger clouds his eyes, but when he speaks it's soft and uncertain, “But you...you had to be.”

Merlin shakes his head; his mouth is dry and his hands are shaking and his heart is racing. “Arthur, I have magic.” And the words are just as hard to say the second time around as they were the first. (Even now, there's a voice screaming at him to stop talking, to backtrack, to laugh and make a joke, to say no, no, none of this is real!) But Merlin doesn't pull back the words, doesn't reclaim them, just lets them sink into the silence, fill it up with the confession that he has always been so afraid to say.

“No, no, you can't—” Arthur half stands, his hand halfway raised (to what? To ward off Merlin? To touch him and see if this is real?) “No.”

And Merlin cups his hands together, the voice in his head screams louder and louder—and is finally silenced as Merlin lets the magic flow through him.

He knows the exact moment his eyes change to gold; Arthur gasps in a breath and Merlin can feel his shock, can hear his world crashing down.

And Arthur knows.

Merlin opens his hands and lets the butterfly free.

_Arthur knows._

And it's still terrifying but Merlin no longer cares; he's not fighting anymore, he's not hiding anymore, he's not _lying_ anymore.

The butterfly flits around the room, landing only for a second here and there before taking flight again (an echo of Merlin's heartbeat that won't stop pounding painfully fast inside his chest). Arthur's eyes follow its every movement, but Merlin just watches him; watches as the emotions play on his face unable to decide on what to think (and Merlin understands this all too well).

Silence reigns in the room for a long time. Merlin wants to break it but he's still afraid to say the wrong thing. The butterfly (real and solid and alive and not under Merlin's control) circles closer to Arthur before finally, it lands on his raised arm.

Arthur sighs then, an exhale of breath that says so much without having to say a single word. “Merlin,” he whispers eventually and there's something indescribable in his voice.

And Merlin suddenly doesn't want this to end, doesn't want Arthur to say anything else because he could say anything, and Merlin doesn't know what it will be. Because Merlin believes in Arthur, believes he's good and just and worthy but if Merlin could miss that Arthur (the man he thought he knew everything about), that _Arthur_ had _magic_ than what else was Merlin missing? (What else had he been too blind, too oblivious, too foolish to notice?) And he's scared, so scared and it doesn't matter that it won't be his death warrant, but it could be rejection, it could be acceptance, it could be _anything_ and he's _scared_.

“I've had it forever—since I was born, and no, I'm not making this up—Mum told me my eyes were gold when I was born and I didn't learn to walk until I was four because I didn't need to touch the ground to move and I didn't need to speak—I don't need spells—to get things to come to me. I was sent here because we needed the money—it wasn't all a lie—but it was also so I could learn how to control my magic—well, I could but I didn't want to and the more I tried to the worse the explosions were. And I didn't want to lie to you—well, actually at first I didn't care anymore than I usually do because I lie to everybody and I'm used to it—how could I not be?—but the more I got to know you, the more I wanted to tell you but I couldn't—no, I'm sorry, I _didn't_ because I couldn't possibly put you in that position. So I lied, and yes, I am sorry for that, but I was always going to tell you. _Always._ And yes, Kilgarrah said it was destiny and I may have been trying to keep you alive, protecting you with magic since that night with that old lady who tried to kill you but it's never been so much about destiny as it has been about you—because I really do think you're a good man—maybe the best and I know you are going to be the greatest king this land could ever see and I'm so sorry I didn't tell you but—”

“Merlin stop!” Arthur cries and it's not the first time or even the third time but Merlin can't stop the flood of words, can't stop the truth from spilling out of him now that the dam has been broken and he doesn't know how to lock it back up again (doesn't know if he even wants to) and all the truth is coming out now and really Arthur deserves better; he deserves the truth but he deserves it so much clearer and not all jumbled up together like this but Merlin can't stop now that he's started.

“But I was scared—not that you would kill me, you're far too honorable for that—but I didn't know how to tell you that I lied and have been lying since the moment we met. And I didn't want you to have to choose between your father and your kingdom and me and yes, of course I was afraid that yo—”

Merlin's outpouring of truth only stops when Arthur crosses the distance between them and puts his hand over Merlin's mouth, cutting the words off abruptly. Merlin gasps in a breath and bites his tongue and still the words try to escape out into the open. He breathes harshly and Arthur just keeps his hand there until finally the words stop trying to suffocate him and he can relax his tense jaw. Arthur slowly releases him, watching him in concern but Merlin keeps his mouth shut, the words locked away yet again.

He doesn't know what Arthur is thinking, he doesn't know what Arthur will say, but he trusts him more than he has ever trusted anyone else (more than Lancelot, more than Gaius, more than Will, even more than his mom). The butterfly which had flown away some time ago returns to Arthur (drawn to him the same way Merlin has always been).

He doesn't expect Arthur to just look at him in sorrow before finally saying, “I'm so sorry, Merlin.” (And really, what was Arthur apologizing for?) “I just...I had no idea.”

And Merlin can't help but let out something that perhaps was a laugh (or a sob), “Well, that was kind of the point, wasn't it?”

Arthur doesn't smile, doesn't react at all, just keeps staring at him and there is such sadness written in his eyes. “Merlin, you have magic.”

He nods but says nothing (afraid of what else will come pouring out).

“And I...oh, Merlin, I just abandoned you. I rejected you!” he sounds betrayed by his own actions but really, he shouldn't be—Merlin isn't, not now when he understands Arthur's reasons.

“Arthur, please, it's fine—I understand,” he tries but Arthur cuts him off with, “Don't, Merlin, please don't. Just...I told you my secret and you accepted me but when you told me I made you leave and I acted like it...like it was nothing,” he finishes in a horrified whisper.

Merlin can't help but huff slightly because he knows Arthur (he does know him even if there are things he's missed, _he knows Arthur_ ) and this is Arthur spiraling into doubt and guilt. And it's one of the things he respects about him (because Arthur values life and honesty and trust and honor in himself above all others) but right now, it's not right. He has to stop it; he has to fix it.

“Arthur,” he says and relishes the way the name falls from his lips, cutting through the silence and titles and social classes alike. It's a privilege, it's an honor, and Arthur looks at him (not in disdain, not in fear, not in anger; not in betrayal and not cold and not unknowable), responds to him, _listens_ to him. “You didn't know—it's not your fault. I don't blame you and you shouldn't either. And...if I had told you and you then told me I wouldn't have believed you either—and certainly not without proof. I...I should have proved it that night but I didn't—I was just....we both did it, okay. So, just please, don't blame yourself for this.”

“But—” Arthur never could let go once he thought he was in the wrong.

“No buts, Arthur,” Merlin says forcefully. Arthur still doesn't look convinced (and that just won't do). So Merlin recklessly steps forward and gives Arthur the chance to make things right (gives Arthur what he thinks he needs even if Merlin doesn't agree).

“Arthur,” he starts and for the first time he's not afraid and there's no part of him trying to convince himself to stop, “I have magic.” He breathes into his hands and lets the dragon (Camelot's crest, Arthur's sigil, Merlin's own flag now) made out of flames fly free.

Arthur watches it spin around the room before his eyes fall to the butterfly still perched on his arm. Then he looks up at Merlin in wonder and it's better than Merlin could ever have imagined.

Carefully, slowly Arthur steps towards the dragon; his hands rise to almost touch the flames, but he stops before he can, “Merlin,” he breathes, “it's beautiful.”

The dragon somersaults in front of Arthur, daring him to touch it (because, really, Merlin has never ever been able to back down from baiting Arthur and a little bit of that must have leaked into the dragon).

“It's yours, Arthur,” Merlin declares and he's not sure himself if it's a statement or a vow or a prophecy or all three. (It doesn't matter, it's all true.) He's not sure if he means the dragon or the magic or his life. It doesn't matter, they're all Arthur's.

Arthur looks over at him before turning back to the fiery creation and he touches the dragon. He traces its face, its spine, its wings and though sparks fly like fireworks around him there is no pain.

Then Arthur throws back his head and laughs (carefree and happy and relieved) and he draws back his hands only for his eyes to spark to gold and a second dragon forms out of nothing and flies over to play with Merlin's own dragon.

Merlin laughs too, because he's free, because Arthur is free and they're still here and now they're talking to each other and what could possibly be better?

Arthur comes over to his side, “Merlin, thank you,” he says sincerely.

And Merlin hasn't done any of this for thanks (at least not for a long time) hasn't done it for recognition or credit or reward but with these three words (it's always three words, isn't it?) he feels whole. He feels like he belongs.

Merlin feels free.

He's not sure that he can ever feel happier than he does in this moment. He grins and replies, “Thank you, Sire,” acknowledging Arthur as his king and his master and his destiny but he doesn't stop there, “Thank you, Arthur,” because Merlin hasn't done all of this for destiny for quite some time but he does it for Arthur, always for Arthur.

Arthur shakes his head at him but he's grinning so Merlin isn't worried.

Then Arthur (in another echo of the past) throws his arms around Merlin, crushes him against his chest, wraps him in an embrace, but this time instead of expressing gratitude it is Arthur who gives acceptance, who shows no fear, who holds him tight and refuses to let him go regardless of who Merlin is and what he possesses and what he has done and what lies he has told.

It's the butterfly that breaks them apart by fluttering right over Arthur's face, tickling his cheek, “A butterfly, Merlin, really?” Arthur drawls but he's still grinning and though he's pulled away he keeps one hand resting on Merlin's shoulder (and for the first time in a long time it's not too heavy a burden to carry. Not Arthur, never Arthur).

“Well, it worked didn't it?” He defends weakly (his thoughts are on other things than witty quips) and half shrugs (so he doesn't knock Arthur's hand away). “And I've always been fond of butterflies.”

Arthur shakes his head fondly and utterly ruins the moment (as he always does, except not really), “You're still an idiot, aren't you?”

And Merlin, because he can and because he wants to, tells the full truth, “Yeah, it's just one of my many talents.”

What he doesn't say because it doesn't need saying, because Arthur already knows, is that Merlin is (forever and always) Arthur's idiot.

**Author's Note:**

> So this definitely wasn't what I was supposed to be writing, but I guess we can all see how well that turned out. Anyway...I hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
